Burning Muggle London
by Meri Kaisla
Summary: Harry, Voldemort and a cup of tea.
1. Burning Muggle London

**Summary:** Harry, Voldemort and a cup of tea.

**Warnings:** Serious provocation.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine… And after reading this you'll know why.

**A/N:** Today it's been exactly a year since I joined this site. Who would have thought…

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Harry slouched back in his chair at the café and made sure his cap sat nicely in his head, obscuring his forehead from view. Voldemort, sitting opposite to him, sipped his drink and snorted in amusement. Harry blinked. "What?"

"Isn't there some charm to hide that scar?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe."

"One would think you would have done about anything to find it already."

Harry smirked. "I was thinking of doing it after defeating you. Permanently, I mean."

Voldemort snorted. "Good luck."

"Thanks, though you could do me a favour and STAY dead. Come on, I've killed you at least four times now, but no one cares since you are _still_ here."

Voldemort looked mildly offended, in an amused sort of way. "It's not my fault you have yet to dispose of all of my Horcruxes."

"I can't find those blasted things, and you know it. Besides, it's still cheating."

"Cheating? Hah. Don't your beloved Muggles say that everything is allowed in love and war?"

"They are not my beloved Muggles anymore. Don't you read the newspapers? I burned half of the Muggle London. They think I'm positively evil now, even after I tried to tell them it was a pure accident. Damn I hate the Ministry."

"You do have some darker tendencies, you know."

Harry blinked. "I do?"

Voldemort lifted his eyebrow. "Like casually drinking tea with me."

"Oh, right. Drinking tea is positively evil."

"Brat."

"Snakeface." A smirk.

"Potter… I was just wondering… Since you DO have these tendencies…. Oh, don't look at me like that, you didn't even try to deny them! You DID burn half of London, and you are being ANNOYED because they rightly accuse you from it."

"Fine. What are you implying, then?"

"Would you like to burn the rest of it with me?"

Harry stared. "…Fine. On a few conditions, though."

"Which are?"

"We start with Fudge. And I get both Snape and Wormtail."

"Fudge, okay. Snape I can give you, but I'm afraid Wormtail is a bit different thing."

"Why? Having second thoughts about this allegiance after all?"

"No… it's just that I may have accidentally… disposed of him in a surge of anger a while ago…"

"Oh."

"Sorry."

"It's fine, fine… Just crushed my dark fantasy of slowly tormenting him to death… But I'll live."

A short laugh. "Good."

Harry stopped balancing his chair on two of its legs and stood up. "Shall we, then?"

Voldemort lifted his nonexistent eyebrow in surprise. "Now?"

Harry shrugged. "Why not. Better not waste any time – now I'm most open to your dark and evil plotting and manipulation since my anger at the resentment I've received from my recent actions have left me emotionally vulnerable and therefore I'm in no condition to control my temper and my hurt feelings come out in a violent explosion of deathly magic and power, not caring whether the victims in my way are friends or foes. This happens even though in the end I'll find out I've only been hurting myself. So tragic, you see."

Voldemort looked sceptical. "Brat. You are totally using me as an excuse."

He had never seen anything as innocent as Harry's face was then. "What excuse is that? This is what YOU wanted, after all."

Voldemort stood. "…Whatever. I'll rally up my followers."

"Nah. It's more fun with just the two of us."

"Don't go all Gryffindor on me, brat. We'll get at least a few of them."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever, just hurry up."

And then, with a loud 'crack' both of them disapparated from the café, leaving behind screaming Muggles and giving the soon arriving Ministry wizards a small foretaste of what was to come.


	2. Burning Ministry of Magic

**A/N: You asked for it, you got it, so you'd better review on your way out :P**

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Even though Harry Potter was the one to defeat Voldemort, the Ministry of Magic was not too pleased with him. Especially not after he burned half of the Muggle London. That, they probably could have coped with… but then the insolent brat had tried to burn the rest of it with the Dark Lord himself. Rufus Scrimgeour lifted his head from his papers and glared angrily at the young man sitting sloppily on a chair in the middle of the interrogation chamber. "Have you got anything to say in your defence?" he growled.

The boy looked amused. "No."

Scrimgeour glared at him. "You are accused of various crimes, including arson, damaging public property, attempted murder, serious damage on the mental and psychical health of the previous Minister of Magic, slander, attempted revolt against the Ministry, disturbance of peace by outrageous and untrue songs – " a small snicker escaped the boy's mouth. Scrimgeour glared and continued with renewed vigour: " – not to mention the serious crime of allying yourself with he-who-must-not-be-named. And you say you have nothing to say in your defence?"

The boy shrugged. "I was in the mood, you know?"

Scrimgeour felt his eyebrow twitch. "You… _were in the mood_?" he repeated outrageously. He felt the hair in his neck prickle and stick by the utterly uncaring way the boy talked.

"Yes, I was in the mood", the boy repeated as thought talking to a seriously dim-witted person, slouching lazily in his chair.

Scrimgeour stared. "In the mood to JOIN the man you should defeat?"

The boy gave a lazy grin and slouched even lower in his chair. "You know what they say; keep your friends close and your enemies' even closer…"

Scrimgeour could hear the Wizengamot members whispering and muttering darkly around him, and he felt like gritting his teeth in frustration. Honestly, what were they supposed to do with this kid? "Do you have no remorse at all?" he snapped, desperately trying to contain his anger.

The boy sighed softly. "Actually, I do. You are completely right, I should have never listened to him – "

Scrimgeour felt his jaw dropping, swirling under his bench, rolling across the floor and bouncing merrily towards the floor of the interrogation room. "What?"

The boy scowled at him for interrupting and continued: "I shouldn't have listened to him, true. I should have known that when he insists on bringing on a few of those idiotic Death Eaters, things just CAN'T go smoothly. AND it should have been blaringly obvious that leaving the diversion to a _Lestrange_ of all people is just asking for trouble. But the old man can be so convincing, you know?"

Scrimgeour tried to snap his mouth shut and wondered briefly if he could get Percy Weasley discreetly fetch his jaw for him. After a few moments of struggle he regained control over this revolting body part and snarled: "That's it, brat. I've had enough of your petty little attention-seeking – "

His rant was cut short when the northern wall near the second entrance suddenly exploded. Through the swirling dust emerged a group of people in long black cloaks, hoods raised and covering their faces from view. In front of them came the greatest of the dark lords, Voldemort, as though breaking into interrogation rooms was an everyday occurrence to him. Scrimgeour had never seen the Wizengamot members depart as hurriedly as now. In about two seconds he was the only one left; a few paper sheets brushed up in the air by the hasty desertion swirling almost lazily around him.

Harry stood up, stretched lazily and sauntered over to the dark lord, rubbing his eyes while sleepily asking: "What took you so long?"

Voldemort glared. "Do you have any idea ho difficult it is to explain to my followers that we need to round up and go SAVE _your _sorry ass? Do you have any idea how ridiculous I felt saying that?"

Harry hid his laughter behind his hand. "Yet you still came. Awww, so sweet. What a big softie you are. Old age must be affecting your brains."

Voldemort almost growled. "Brat. That confirms it. You PURPOSEFULLY let yourself be caught."

This time the boy let his smile show. "What? I had to make sure this alliance thing is actually trustworthy."

"I'm such an idiot."

A smirk. "Don't beat yourself up about it – beat Fudge, instead."

"Ah, yes. I believe we had some unfinished business with him."

"Aaa, by the way, Scrimgeour kinda annoys me too. Can we do something to him first?"

Scrimgeour blinked. Now this was outrageous. He was the Minister of Magic! No one dared to touch him! No one!

…except that brat. Scrimgeour saw he-who-must-not-be-named casually shrugging his shoulders and nodding, and felt a hideous headache approaching. Damn. He just should have listened his inner sense and never gotten out of bed this morning.

"Excellent!" the Potter boy grinned.

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_Damn_, Rufus Scrimgeour thought again half an hour later, when he was upside down, butt-naked, skin filled with provocative comments written with a blue permanent marker, hanging from a lamppost just outside of the Ministry building. Damn the Potter boy. He seriously had some twisted humour. But well, Scrimgeour guessed he should be glad he was still relatively unharmed (he had only been subjected to one _cruciatus_ curse, and even that had been an accident). The same could not be said about his beautiful building…

He wiggled his body, making himself sway lightly. Showing a surprising amount of agility, he managed to swing his leg (he was only tied to his knees) and catch hold of the lamppost. He then carefully turned his body and glanced at the Ministry building.

Smoke was rising in circles from inside it, and he could hear someone's ravenous laughter echoing in the hallway. Something exploded, probably the new statue of magical cooperation and friendship Fudge had funded with the money Lucius Malfoy gave him… And sure enough, a moment later the remaining upperparts of a beheaded elf shot out of the Ministry doors like a strange cannonball, followed by a laughing, teenage-sized Death Eater. Scrimgeour sighed and let go of the lamppost, returning to swing to his original position. Oh well. Watching just wasn't worth it anymore.

Voldemort and Harry, on the other hand, were watching in amusement the happenings in front of them. They had left the Ministry to the Death Eaters and hurried of to St. Mungo's, where Cornelius Fudge was being treated. Their arrival had been laced with screaming and an immediate emergency barricading of the hospital entrances. They actually didn't mind, since Harry was not going to attack a hospital. But the panicked staff and patients needn't know that. He smirked, held his wand near his mouth and bellowed as though through a megaphone: "We will not harm any of you, if you give us Cornelius Fudge! I repeat: no harm will come upon you, if you throw Fudge out!"

Voldemort snickered. Inside the hospital, Cornelius Fudge clutched his bed sheets with a horrified expression on his face. He glanced at the healers and his fellow patients, who were now stealing rather predatory looks at his direction. "Now hold on a minute", he started. "You don't seriously think – "

"Sorry, Fudge", one of the healers said. "Have fun!" And with those words, Cornelius Fudge was thrown out of the window.

Harry smiled satisfactorily as a screaming Fudge flew out of the third floor window, his horribly green hospital gown flopping wildly around his legs. "Ah, persuasion", he sighed. "Don't you just LOVE people who listen to reason?"

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**The end… well. I have absolutely no idea where this should go from here, so unless you tell me or some weird inspiration hits me in the middle of the night, this is it. I DO have a mental image of Fudge sitting on the ground, smiling disarmingly at Harry and Voldemort and saying 'Errrr…. Hi', but that's it. Not much for a chapter, huh?**


	3. Burning Training Fields

Burning Training Fields

**A/N: Now that Deathly Hallows is out, this story (like so many others, I'm sure) is officially AU. But then again, Voldemort being alive and all, and their little conversations… well, let's face it, this had absolutely nothing to do with canon to begin with. So whee! Who cares.**

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"So as of today, Cornelius Fudge will be a common rookie in your Death Eater Trainee Camp!"

Voldemort just gave him a look. "Potter, you are insane."

Harry blinked. "Oh. I thought that it was you… Well, details, details", he said airily, waving his hand dismissively. "Now then, I believe we still have some unfinished business to attend, yes?"

"And what is that? We already burned quite a bit of London, destroyed the Ministry, threatened a hospital, captured Fudge and caused overall mayhem. What more did you want to do, you insolent and greedy brat?"

Harry stared at him almost disbelievingly. "Take over the country, of course."

Voldemort stood. "Hold on a moment, will you. I will round up my followers and have you repeat that. If they all swear under the _cruciatus_ that you just said that, then I might not sign myself in for mental instability and general hearing problems."

"Totally uncalled for", Harry muttered. "You are the one who got me into this and now you act like we are quitting halfway through."

"Are you _seriously_ trying to make me believe that YOU want to rule this country?"

Harry smiled. "Nope. It would be Arthur Weasley."

"…"

"Yeah."

"…Weasley? You want to have a _Weasley_ run this country?"

"Cripes, you just sounded like Malfoy."

"Don't you DARE compare me with those lowlifes! And what do you expect me to say after I find out you want to rise to power NOT YOU and certainly NOT ME, but that Muggle-loving fool?"

"That description would fit Dumbledore too, you know."

"Dumbledore is dead."

Harry glared. "No reason to remind me."

"Why not? He is, after all, the reason to your downfall. When he was still alive, and even shortly after his death, you were FIERCE about defeating me and vanquishing all evil and all that nonsense. All fires burn out, Potter."

"Funny to hear that from you, Mr. 'I will conquer death!'. Come on. That's not even an original ambition. All villains want to live forever."

"Of course. It would be a shame to waste these talents by dying."

"Yeah. That's generally why people take apprentices."

"Potter, I will live long enough to dance on your grave."

Harry blinked in surprise. "You dance? I didn't know."

"Brat, you are making this entirely too difficult. Just be a good boy and shut up."

"Not yet. We have still to conquer the country, and you have yet to give me Snape."

"Snape?" Voldemort sounded honestly confused. "Did I not send him to you in a small box just the other week?"

"Ewww, why did you have to remind me of that? And more importantly, was that SNAPE? I wanted to personally teach him a lesson!"

"Sorry. You can still boil his eyes in oil and eat them if it makes you feel better."

"It DOES NOT make me feel better. He turned in my parents, you know!"

"I know. And all the more reason to eat his eyes, then."

"… I suddenly got very disturbing insight on why your house-elves are all insane."

Voldemort's possible reply was cut short as a group of shouting Death Eaters chased Fudge past them. Voldemort lifted his eyebrow. "A common rookie, you say…"

Harry smiled almost guiltily. "Weeeeelll… With a few additions, of course."

"Of course, brat."

Harry's smile widened, as he started to make his way from the field. "Now then… where do you want to start?"

Voldemort stepped to walk beside him. "Never mind that, just tell me what you are going to do about the Order of the Chickens and your meddling little friends."

Harry pursed his lips. "They have been awfully quiet, true", he admitted slowly.

"Do you think they'll come for you again?"

"They're not ones to give up. You are still alive."

"Oh, you noticed. Brilliant boy."

Harry gave him a look. "Does it bother you?"

Voldemort sniffed disdainfully. "In their current state they are no threat to me."

"…Says he and asks the Golden Boy what they are doing. Worried? Who? Never."

"Brat – "

"But I guess that's the Slytherin in you talking. I mean, you'd rather avoid open fights even with a slug, just to make sure you don't dirty your shoes."

"It's the Slytherins that will rule the world after all Gryffindors have died in glory."

"Hm… could be true. You couldn't get Hufflepuffs to do the job, and Ravenclaws only if you managed to get them out of the library."

"It surprises me you haven't tried to become the Headmaster of Hogwarts. You are already equally biased enough to do it."

Harry laughed. "Thanks! Well, I could become one, after we've taken over the country, that is."

Voldemort looked amused. "So you will be the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Arthur _Weasley _you say will be the Minister. Dare I even inquire what position you have planned for me?"

"You and Lucius could always start a boy band and raise awareness to things like globalisation, melting icebergs, child abuse… you could easily win all Eurovision song contests. No one would dare not to vote you."

"…Does Lucius even know how to sing?"

A shrug. "Dunno. But at least he has enough money to bribe everyone to believe he can. Between him and you, the Dancing Wonder, you'd make the hit lists in a week."

"…"

"And your name could be something like 'UKnowULoevPr3ttyBoyz' or the like… you get the picture. Just remember to bring it up with Lucius, because he needs to start bribing people pretty soon to make it a success. "

"Potter, your hero complex and your lack of subtlety are the only things that match up to your twisted imagination."

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**A/N: Thanks for the ideas, people (especially you, Aki WildQueen!)! And for the reviews, I treasure them. Because of them, here is the third chapter for you all. Never say your opinions don't count…**


	4. Burning Ties of Blood

Burning Ties of Blood

**Burning Ties of Blood**

Harry leaned back in his chair and gave his companion a small smirk. "Did you know that I am practically your father?"

Voldemort nearly broke his quill in half. A big, black drop of ink emerged to stain the neatly filled parchment.

"No, seriously!" Harry said, grinning madly. "Don't you remember? My blood runs in your veins. My blood, in yours, not the other way around."

Voldemort threw his quill on the table and flopped most ungracefully back on his chair. "That does not mean you were here before me, which, I think, is kind of a requirement – "

Harry lifted his finger and wiggled his eyebrows rather suggestively. "Not, if you count in time travel."

"– And, such a thing would only mean we are somehow related by blood. If you remember, my _body_ was created by my father's bone and – "

"Yeah, yeah. Your father is your father, the filthy Muggle."

Voldemort gave him a dark look. "That's right."

"But considerer then this: if your father is the one who created you by bone, is the one who created you by flesh then your mother?"

"Mot-"

"Yyyyeeeeaaah, which would be Wormtail. Isn't that just sweet?"

"Potter – "

"That would erase your handy relation to Salazar Slytherin, though. Too bad, huh?"

"POTTER – "

"Face it, snake face. Currently, you don't have even a DROP of your mother's blood in you."

"… When on earth did you become so knowledgeable about my family, anyway?"

"One word: Dumbledore."

Voldemort let out a rather snappish curse. Harry faked a sad smile. "Isn't that so tragic? You killed your mother. Poor, poor Wormtail."

Voldemort sighed. "Sometimes, just SOMETIMES, I think I really would have been better off killing you right from the start."

"Hah. You make it sound like you actually could have."

"I could have. If I had just, let's say, used a KNIFE instead of a curse."

"Too bad, huh?"

Voldemort looked annoyed. "How was I supposed to know? It has always worked before. You just... make the rules bend, you brat."

"Technically it was my mother. So, in reality, you lost to a Mudblood."

Voldemort's head shot up, a murderous expression on his face. Harry, even though courageous, was not suicidal. He quickly changed to subject. "Wow", he said. "Snape really has HAIRY feet."

That took even Voldemort by surprise. "What?!"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know... You try changing the subject when someone is plotting to kill you, and right in front of you, if I might add. It's not so easy, you know."

Voldemort's head flopped back down. "Leave me. NOW."

"I was going to, anyway", Harry returned. "Your house elves REALLY can't cook. I'll eat outside."

--

Harry tramped down the tunnel, opened the chamber door and slipped in to see a dark figure hunched in a chair, reading in the pale lamplight. "Hello", Harry said cheerfully.

Severus Snape lifted his head and glared at him. "Do not expect me to feel grateful, Potter."

"Wouldn't even dream of it."

Snape glared at him. He stood up slowly, as though forcefully stopping himself from either attacking or childishly barging out. "I am leaving", he said, his every word measured.

"Oh, please don't. Can't you see how I'm crying?"

Severus Snape said nothing more. He just gave Harry a look too filled with mixed thoughts and emotions for Harry to decipher them all, then stepped past him and out of the cellar and out of his life.

--

Harry didn't exactly have any grudges for Snape anymore – too much had happened, too much had been said and done. No grudges, though, didn't stop Harry from torching down Snape's house at the Spinner's End, just for the old times sake, you know. Now, it wasn't like Snape could have used it anymore anyway.

--

**A/N: The way I write this, Voldemort is actually turning up to be the saner one... Oh, and about Snape... in honour of the last.**

**Yeah, it's been a while. It's just... I'm running out of ideas, here. I should write at least one more chapter, but... with a year in boarding school, trying to find a job and a place to move in, not to mention what a mentally fucked up person I am... we'll see if it will ever come to that.**


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